Chapter 26 – What They Never Teach in Laterano

Laterano always looked spotless. The walls were white, the floors swept every morning, and even the old statues in the district gardens were repainted every month. But Exu had begun to realize: clean didn't mean honest. Clean only meant someone—or something—was very good at hiding their dirt.

This morning, Exu sat in a rarely used study room. Its window faced the post tower, and the walls were still dusty. On the table were three pieces of leftover breakfast bread, untouched schoolbooks, and a small notebook that she quickly closed when someone entered.

Fiammetta walked in, carrying two bottles of cold milk. She tossed one to Exu without warning. Exu caught it with one hand, still lounging lazily in her chair.

"You're spacing out," Fiammetta remarked, settling beside her.

"Just imagining if Laterano were a chessboard," Exu replied casually.

"And you're the pawn?"

"If I'm a pawn, I'd kick back."

Fiammetta gave a small chuckle.

Their plan that day was simple: plant a new listening device near the central chapel. It wasn't a suspicious location—precisely why it was ideal. Too public to be questioned.

Exu went first, disguised as an ordinary student retrieving an assignment from a chapel supervisor. Fiammetta followed behind, pretending to wait for a friend. They didn't speak or exchange glances. But when they reached the large western pillar of the chapel, Exu bent down as if to tie her shoelace—and slipped the tiny device into the gap between stone and wood.

A sound capsule. Not sophisticated, but good enough to catch short conversations.

Fiammetta crossed her arms. "You realize this is basically flirting with Laterano's laws, right?"

"If I'm flirting, at least let it be with someone hot," Exu replied, deadpan.

Once finished, they made their way to their usual alley bench. Two ice creams in hand, sitting under the shade of climbing vines.

And they waited.

Mostima appeared without a sound, as usual. But this time, Exu had already expected her.

"You skipped third period," she said, standing before them.

Fiammetta stared back expressionless. "Group project's done. So we're a group... sightseeing."

"Sightseeing in restricted zones too?"

Exu didn't answer. She met Mostima's gaze, waiting to see where this would go.

Oddly, Mostima didn't press further. She simply stared at them for a moment, then sat on the ground, leaning back against the wall.

"Do you two even know what you're doing?"

"Just... observing," Exu said.

Mostima gave a slow nod. "Don't get too close to the center. There are things even I don't want to know more about."

"Like... what?" Exu asked.

Mostima turned to her slowly. "Like the third altar. And what's promised by those without names."

Exu committed those words to memory.

Fiammetta raised an eyebrow. "You've seen that altar?"

Mostima didn't answer. But her eyes said everything.

That night, Exu sat at her desk. Her textbooks were open, but unread. She was copying down patterns from the latest audio recordings. People speaking... then a long pause. Then a strange sentence:

"Activation requires sacrifice. But she's not stable enough. We'll wait for the child to go deeper."

"The child."

"She."

Exu.

The next day, something felt off.

As Exu walked the school halls, she noticed a teacher who usually smiled now stared quietly at the floor. An unfamiliar postal officer lingered too long near the chapel. In the office, two junior council clerks—usually indifferent—whispered nervously in the back.

Exu recognized the signs. Something had shifted.

That afternoon, when she and Fiammetta reviewed the latest recording from the chapel device, they didn't hear ordinary voices.

They heard a long hum. Not electronic. A kind of... small choir.

And within it, Mostima's voice.

"Don't wait for her to fall. She's already starting to rise."

Fiammetta stared at Exu.

"You sure... this isn't a trap?"

Exu looked at the playback screen. Her eyes sharp.

"If it is, that means we're close."

She stood.

Fiammetta followed.

Their steps were light. But not childish.

And deep beneath Laterano, an old bell rang once.

No one had rung it.

But that sound meant one thing:

Something had been opened.

And it would never be closed again.